Dancing
by brutalbloodycato
Summary: Seamus can't dance. Dean can. With the Yule Ball coming up, Dean offers to help his best mate learn how to dance like a proper gentleman. - Mostly fluff. Dean/Seamus


"I'm not dancing, you git."

"Stop being a prat and take my hand, Seamus. I'm actually offended that you're hesitating, to be honest."

With a long sigh, Seamus clambered to his feet. "Not _everyone_ wants a slice of you, Thomas."

Dean chortled. "And you're certain of that fact, _Finnigan_?"

_No_.

"Naturally."

Seamus frowned into his hands, trying to rid his mind of the scenarios forming. Dean edged closer, smirking as he spoke. "What's wrong? Do my stunningly good looks make you nervous?"

_Yes_.

"Oh get over yourself, you sodder."

Laughing, Dean leaned forward and laced his fingers with Seamus's before pulling the wizard's body closer to his own. With their faces inches away from one another, Seamus could feel colour touching his cheeks, could feel sweat gathering on his palms, could practically hear his heartbeat and hoped to high heavens that Dean couldn't, too.

"Now, hand on my waist," Dean ordered, and Seamus obliged with a red face. "Now, I'm taking the girl's position right now... er - I guess your date will be shorter than me. Well, I hope she is for your sake." Seamus nudged him. "Anyway, I'll put my hand on your shoulder... there. All right, now we dance."

"Without music? Really, Dean?"

"Way to ruin the moment, you tosser." Dean pulled away, digging in the pockets of his pants for his wand. Finally locating it, he turned toward the record player across the room and quickly waved it. Music - ballroom music, like that of what they had been subjected to listening to while practicing the day prior - filled their ears, and Dean turned back with a wry smile curled on his lips. "Is everything up to standard now, your highness?"

"You're still a tad bit too tall."

Dean rolled his eyes, resuming his position; Seamus felt his skin prickle at the touch, trying hard not to recoil from the warm feeling building up inside him. "And now," Dean said, "you lead."

"_I_ lead? How do I lead?" Seamus felt anxiety swell in the pit of his stomach. Should he have known this already? "_Where_ do I lead?"

"You're so stupid," Dean laughed. "First: straighten up, man. No girl wants to dance with the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Now, second: _look _at me. When you're dancing with a girl, it's crucial to keep eye contact. Make her swoon with your eyes."

"You overestimate what my eyes can do, Dean."

"Nonsense," said Dean. "Now, third: when you lead, you're basically just stepping back or to the side before your partner does. Put your left foot back." Seamus did as told. "Good, now I'll put mine forward." He did as he said. "Now put your right foot back, and I'll put mine forward. All right, there. Now... yes, you've got it."

Seamus moved slowly, one foot moving back or to the side and Dean's soon following suit. He could feel his mate's body pressed close when Seamus was too slow to move, or when he made a mistake, and it was all he could do to keep himself from cringing away from his touch. Why did his heart beat so fast, so loud? It was just _Dean_, for crying out loud!

He stepped to the right, guiding Dean with his entwined fingers. Then back. Then to the left. Then forward. He couldn't look away from Dean's gaze, couldn't avoid his soft expression, his small smile, his entire _being_. What was _happening_ to him? Seamus had known Dean for years... he couldn't name the feeling in his gut, or the burning sensation where Dean's fingertips touched his skin, and yet he knew he never wanted for it to fade.

"_Shit_!"

Dean's weight fell onto him, too much for him to take in his unbalanced state. With a series of grunts, a loud bang beneath them, and a certain stinging pain blooming from his back, both Seamus and Dean fell onto the hard wooden floor. "Fuck... sorry, Seamus..." Dean muttered, propping himself up on his elbows. "Hopefully your date won't screw up like that..."

"It's fine," Seamus laughed, sitting up. "I can't really blame you for getting lost in my eyes. I hear I can make people swoon with them."

"You're an idiot," Dean rolled his eyes, grinning. "Now, are you going to be a proper gentleman and escort me to my house?"

Seamus nudged him. "Git," he said, clambering to his feet. He offered his hand to Dean, a wry grin on his lips. "I'll give you my jacket, too, if you get cold. I mean, with a heart like yours, I don't think it's possible for you _to_ get any colder, but y'know..."

Dean took his hand and was hoisted to his feet. "Watch it, Finnigan," he warned, "most girls don't take lightly to insults. You're lucky I'm one of the good ones."

"Yeah, all right," Seamus snorted.

"However, I _will_ take you up on that offer. It's freezing and I was in such a rush to teach a certain _someone_ who, I might add, is an _awful_ dancer, and forgot to bring my jumper," Dean said, outstretching his arm.

Seamus pulled his jacket off and tossed it at him. "There, you prat. Now if you're _done_..."

"Hang on, dearest," Dean interrupted, stuffing himself into the jacket. "There is one last thing. Y'know, to complete the night."

"Well?"

Dean stepped closer, leaning downward so that his face hovered in front of Seamus's. He pressed his lips to the Irish wizard's cheek, and an explosion of warmth burst beneath Seamus's skin. Colour enveloped his cheeks as Dean pulled away, grinning, before turning on the heels of his sneakers and leaving the room. Seamus could do nothing but stare at the space where his mate had once stood, feeling his heart hammer against his rib-cage.

That certainly did complete the night.


End file.
